Death Of A Marriage, Birth Of Revenge

Aurora POV:

Ethan looked down at the keys resting on the sterile floor. His face darkened into a stormy, terrifying mask.

He slowly straightened his posture, his hands methodically smoothing out the wrinkles the keys had left on his suit jacket. When he looked back at me, his eyes were sharp and highly aggressive.

He let out a cold, mocking laugh. He asked me if I still couldn't grasp reality, if I still thought I was the untouchable mafia princess who could dictate the rules.

I reached over with my left hand and violently ripped the IV needle out of my right hand.

Blood instantly gushed from the puncture wound, sliding down my pale knuckles and dripping onto the white sheets.

The nurse let out a panicked gasp and rushed forward to stop the bleeding, but Ethan shot her a glare so murderous it nailed her feet to the floor.

I pressed my thumb hard against the bleeding hole, ignoring the sting, and locked my cold gaze onto Ethan.

I demanded to know why, as my husband, his very first instinct when his wife was doused in boiling soup was to shield the attacker.

A brief, almost imperceptible flash of panic crossed Ethan's eyes. It was immediately swallowed by his self-righteous arrogance.

He couldn't explain his own physical instincts, so he relied on the moral high ground to mask his guilt.

He took a heavy step forward, bringing out the ultimate, exhausted excuse: Ilene's father.

His voice rose in volume, echoing off the clinic walls. He reminded me that if Ilene's father hadn't taken three bullets for him, he would have bled out and died on the Miami docks years ago.

He pointed a finger at me, calling me cold-blooded and ungrateful. He said Ilene was an orphaned, helpless woman suffering from severe depression.

Listening to his tired clichés, I suddenly burst into laughter. The movement violently pulled at the burned flesh on my chest, forcing me to gasp sharply in pain, but I couldn't stop laughing.

I looked at him and enunciated every single word. "Her father saved you, not me. Why should my flesh and my marriage pay your debt?"

The words acted like a serrated knife, slicing cleanly through his hypocritical moral armor.

Ethan was left completely speechless. His chest heaved up and down as he glared at me, clearly struck right in his most vulnerable nerve.

Just as the tension in the room reached a breaking point, the private phone in Ethan's pocket rang with an urgent, shrill tone.

He pulled it out. The name "Ilene" flashed brightly on the screen. He swiped to answer it immediately.

Ilene's weak, crying voice filtered through the receiver. She sobbed that she was all alone in the hospital, terrified, and surrounded by strangers.

Ethan's harsh expression melted instantly. His voice dropped to a gentle, soothing murmur as he promised her he was on his way right now.

He hung up the phone and turned his head back to me. He looked at his severely injured, bleeding wife lying in a hospital bed.

Without a single trace of hesitation in his eyes, he threw down a cold, "Calm yourself down," and turned his back on me, walking straight toward the door.

I watched his retreating back. My voice dropped to freezing temperatures as I called out to him.

Ethan stopped in his tracks, but he didn't turn around.

I told him that the Long Island estate was my legal territory. Unless I was dead, absolutely no one was going to kick me out of my own home.

The territorial instincts of my bloodline were finally waking up.

Ethan let out a dismissive scoff. He found my threat utterly ridiculous. He didn't say another word and strode out of the ER.

The automatic doors slid shut behind him, sealing off the outside world.

I slumped back against the pillows, panting heavily as the last of my adrenaline drained away.

Dr. Harris let out a heavy sigh. He stepped forward with a fresh gauze pad and began to re-treat my bleeding hand.

I stared blankly at the ceiling tiles. The very last shred of attachment I held for this marriage was completely eradicated, replaced by nothing but cold, calculated survival.

I turned to the nurse and asked her to hand me my phone. I dialed a cab company.

"The Long Island estate is my bottom line. Let him go to hell."